Patti is a veteran blogger who writes observational entries about her life that lead some to believe she’s making stuff up. She assures us she isn’t. She describes herself as Erma Bombeck meets Pioneer Woman meets Lucille Ball meets Calamity Jane.

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That’s What She Said…

I have an addiction that’s hard to shake (that’s what she said). It’s silly and juvenile and, at times, comes across as vulgar (that’s what she said). The German is horrified that I can’t stop, or more accurately won’t stop, cause I like doing it (that’s what she said).

Lawsy. Had enough? (that’s what she…) There’s a fine line from funny to sad, and I think I’ve crossed it. Even so, I still find the joke highly amusing. I’m giggling as I’m writing. It’s a sickness, I know. A funny, inappropriate, delightfully punny sickness.

What is wrong with me? I’m a grown woman for goodness sake. No really, I am. Wait. Nope, just checked ~AGAIN~ and I am.

It’s one of those rare jokes that most everyone gets and will happily play along. The comedy gold translates well across gender, age, nations and cultures. Although, I recently came across a gal in her early 30s that had absolutely no idea what was so funny when a group of us slid down the dirty hill of “that’s what she said” hilarity. How was that possible?! We quickly taught her the basics and in no time (after a few rough starts….that’s what she said), she was a convert.

Then I had to go to confession because I had corrupted another pure soul (that’s what….).

Where did it all go wrong? I have no idea, but I can tell you I have been laughing all the way down that slippery-sloped hill.

When we were raising our son, we kept a certain level of decorum. Humor was a very large part of our lives, but the “that’s what she said” joke hadn’t been heard. THANK GOD! I never had to worry about my mommy mask slipping and having to explain why I was laughing so hard at such naughtiness. But, I still worry. Grandchildren will be next.

I gotta get it out of my system….NOW! So if you happen to see me out and about, please understand if you say something, that I then twist into a “that’s what she said” joke, inappropriate as it may be, that I’m trying. You don’t have to laugh along; just let it play out. I’ll stop laughing, wiping my tears and compose myself within a few minutes. Consider it your good deed of the day, helping me purge this affliction, before I’m someone’s grandma.

Head’s up though: never throw me a softball (that’s what she said). It’s my addiction. I’ll forget everything I said here and run with the joke. Sure, I’ll feel awful after I stop laughing. Or, after I repeat it to someone and then stop laughing. Or, at the very least, after I replay it in my mind one more time and then stop laughing. Maybe.

Oh, who am I kidding? Probably not. I can’t dictate what I find funny. I’ll just have to learn how to repress the gag (nope. no joke here. this is a family paper.)

I’m hoping that it’s just a phase, that one day soon, I’ll wake-up and be so over that joke and on to a more age-appropriate one.